


Sober

by orphan_account



Category: Muse (Band)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, F/M, Short Story, Showbiz Era, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:07:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21945580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: He just wanted her to be happy.
Relationships: Matt Bellamy/Original Female Character
Comments: 11
Kudos: 11





	Sober

**Author's Note:**

> this is set in showbiz era (1998-1999).

Royal Canadian blended.

Just how I always liked it. The bar's quieter in these hours of the night, a lot of these people are finishing their meals and calling it a night. Little burbles of conversation waft about in the room. My night's only starting. I took a sip of my drink. It burned at the back of my throat, lingering on my tongue - not too sweet, not flavourless either. I tapped the glass on the counter and let the familiar feeling of the booze wash over me. It would sort of hit like waves, depending on how much I'd have or how strong it was. I promised myself to not get too pissed this time. She never liked me like this. She says I could die if I don't stop. 

_"Matt!"_ she yells. God, I'm just hearing it on repeat in my head. Well, keep in mind she isn't _actually_ here. She never comes with me to this place. Just the sight of seeing people get pissed up like me is enough to scare her off. _"You're getting worse, you promised me it would get better!"_

But a little drink doesn't hurt anybody, no?

I stared down into the little pool of amber in my glass, the glorious liquid swishing about as I slid the glass about on the counter. It's mesmerising. Making me want to stay here and look at it forever. I keep hearing her voice in my head. 

_"Can't you just stay here?"_

_"It's all falling apart."_

_"Matt..."_

It got louder the more I stared into the glass. I can't get rid of it.

I snatched it up and skulled it all. Oh, the burn. I adored it. But the sudden blast of intoxication you feel hits you like a truck. That little whisper of regret when you skull alcohol was starting to speak to me. It danced about in my throat, but I still waved for the bartender to fill my glass. He's nice. I see him every time. Serves me every time, too. I don't think bartenders care if their customers have a drinking problem. If anything, it helps their business more. Sweet, sweet money.

I watched as he poured it into the glass. Three quarters full. He then walked off to attend to whatever the hell it might be. Bartending stuff. Other people with the same issue as me. At this rate, I can't fix anything. No matter how much she screams at me, I'm always gonna come crawling back. Promises are hard to keep when you're an alcoholic. I wanted to get better. By now I could be on the couch with her, wrapped up in her loving and warm embrace, watching TV and drinking non-alcoholic beverages and living a healthy life. For all I know, she could be off shagging some other guy. Or curled up in bed crying, which is how I usually find her when I return home. It pains me to see her in such a state. Because of me. I kick myself over it, yes, but I'm caught in the same cycle every single day. Without fail. I'm scared for her. Scared for myself.

The drink cooped up in its' glass stared back at me. It's always doing that. My hands quivered a little bit. I was always getting lost in my own thoughts. And it hurt to imagine being in her position. For now there isn't much else for me. 

Down it went, the whole thing, making me wince a little bit at the familiar burning sensation this drink in particular would cause. To be expected, obviously, but you can never ignore it. It'll always happen.

I slammed the glass down when I got the last few drops. My vision was getting a little bit hazy now, too. Like I was getting drowsy. I slumped in my seat a bit more, before just setting the glass aside and burying my face between my crossed arms. On the odd occasion I would cry. Let it all out and regret ever listening to what my friends would say. Partying became an excuse to get my cheeky drink for the week. And then outings turned into where I am now. They all moved away. She stayed with me through it all. He's giving me my poison of choice every night.  
I looked up again. The moon shone brightly outside, like a glowing dinner plate that just sat there in the deep black sky. I would get lost in little things like that, before realising where I was and what I was doing.

I'd stay for a lot longer, typically. Up to an hour if things weren't going too hot for me. I waved for the bartender for a final time. He did his usual thing, giving me my elixir and heading off. 

_"Don't go."_

_"Matt..."_

It was pestering me a lot more than it should've. 

I loved her dearly. And she has to put up with my problems. Horrid ones at that. 

The idea of drinking this last glass seemed dastardly, at best. My body was bugging me to take it all in and savour the bliss that it gave me. My mind advised not to. 

Not everyone can be perfect.

Down it went. Again. The burn wasn't as bad third time around. I pulled the glass away from my lips with a dopey grin, satisfied with the sensation I was experiencing. I shoved my hand into my pocket and pulled out a partially crumpled note, getting up from the tall seat and heading off for the exit. Things faded into and out of view as I stumbled out the door into the dark of the night. 

We didn't live too far from the bar. It's how I could easily travel to and from the place. God. I just wanted to see her. She's relieved when I come back in one piece, but she knows I'm deteriorating. I'm worse every time I come back. She knows. 

I stumbled up the stairs. Through the hallway, before coming to my door. Apartment 252. I snatched my keys from my pocket and opened the lock, opening the door and closing it behind me. It's pitch black in the apartment. The moonlight managed to seep through the window and illuminated a lone part of the tiled floor. 

Huh.

Usually at least one light would be on. Even if she was asleep.

Something wasn't right.

I wasn't sure what. 

I squinted and peered around for a light switch, barely managing to spot the one for the living room. I flicked the switch. The bulb flickered for a second, before growing to its' usual strong, bold lighting. But I was still concered about her.  
The bedroom door was closed as usual. I walked over to it. Sometimes I could hear her crying or softly snoring when I'd arrive, but she was dead silent this time. You could hear a pin drop. Eerily silent. The crickets outside seemed deafening now. 

I turned the knob. 

Turned on the light switch.

My stomach dropped. My heart sank. I immediately felt my eyes well up with tears – I couldn't hold it in any longer. I wanted to vomit. I clutched my stomach and fell to my knees, staring up at her.  
She was in fact there. Just not how I expected to see her. She had a rope tightly constricting her neck, and her lifeless body swayed a little from side to side.  
I couldn't speak. Just cry. I sobbed horrendously. When I tried to face her again, the bile in my stomach would just rise again. 

_She's fucking dead._

It wouldn't have happened if I was sober.

Sober.


End file.
